


If You Can't Handle the Heat...

by lavenderXprince



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Drunk Blow Jobs, Feel-good, Fluff, M/M, Slow Build, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, game show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29409324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderXprince/pseuds/lavenderXprince
Summary: Ashe and his partner, Dedue, are the owners of "The Wind Maiden," a bed and breakfast in Fhirdiad. When Dedue learns that their favorite cooking show,La Table Finale, is searching contestants, the two of them decided to audition. To their utter surprise, they're selected to be on the show!Pure fluff of Ashe and Dedue being domestic and lovey-dovey, with occasional intimate moments sprinkled in.(On temporary hiatus)
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. The Audition Tape

**Author's Note:**

> There's nothing explicit in this chapter, so if you're waiting for them to get handsy, you'll have to wait for the next chapter ;)

_(The screen is black. There is the sound of a chair scraping against a wooden floor.)_

“Is it on, Mercedes?” a young man asks.

“Yes, but I can’t see a thing. Perhaps it’s broken?”

“…the lens cover is still on,” a deep voice interjects.

“Oh, dear! Thank you, Dedue. I can be so absent-minded sometimes.”

_(The camera trembles. The screen is flooded with light. For a moment, it is too blurry to see anything. Then, an image comes into focus. A tall, dark-skinned man sits in front of the camera. His long white hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail. He wears a blue apron. A golden brooch with a red tassel is pinned to one of the straps. His face is covered in scars.)_

“Are you ready, Dedue?”

_(A young man comes onscreen, dragging a chair behind him. He is short and slender. He has long, bony arms and swift, agile fingers. A spray of freckles covers the bridge of his nose. His charcoal hair is carefully combed back. He, too, wears a blue apron. He slides his chair next to the first man. His bright emerald eyes flicker toward the camera. He is nervous, but he tries to hide it.)_

“Yes,” answers the first man.

_(The second man clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. He looks straight into the camera with a serious and determined expression.)_

“Hello. My name is Ashe Duran. This is my partner, Dedue Molinaro. Dedue and I met at the Garreg Mach Culinary Academy. I was attending on a scholarship, and Dedue was there as part of a cultural exchange program. Garreg Mach is very prestigious, and most of the students there were from wealthy families.” _(He titters.)_ “I’m from…humbler origins, so I was a little nervous about studying there. ”

_(He pauses.)_

“Um…I—We—”

_(The second man begins to fumble with his words. The first man takes his partner’s hand in his. He rubs soothing circles into his palm, and then gives it a slight squeeze. The second man flashes him a grateful smile, takes a deep breath, and then continues.)_

“Since Dedue and I were so…different from everyone else, we were kind of like outcasts. A lot of people didn’t want to associate with someone that had lived in poverty, or someone from Duscur. And it probably didn’t help that Dedue couldn’t hold a conversation with anyone for longer than two minutes.”

_(At this comment, his partner’s lips quirk into the slightest of smiles.)_

“After we graduated, we opened a bed and breakfast called “The Wind Maiden” in Fhirdiad, Faerghus. We specialize in Duscur-style cuisine. Many people thought it was weird at first, and some people told us that it would never be successful because no one wants anything to do with Duscur. But…but—!”

“Ashe has worked hard to dispel the negative stereotypes that many in Fódlan believe about the people of Duscur. He has diligently studied the culture and history of Duscur. He is the most earnest and hard-working person I know.”

_(The second man shifts in his seat, taken aback by his partner’s sudden statement.)_

“Dedue!”

_(They lock eyes. If not for the presence of the camera—and the camerawoman—he surely would have wrapped his arms around his partner and pressed kisses against the scar at the corner of his mouth. Instead, he turns back to the camera, his face flushed and his eyes blazing with resolve.)_

“I want everyone to know about Duscur! I want everyone to know that the people of Duscur are not human-eating monsters. They’re people, no different from you or me or anyone else in Fódlan. I know that I can’t just stop the discrimination and prejudice against people from Duscur, but I hope that by educating more people, I can help it die out. And I know that if we had the opportunity to compete on _La Table Finale_ we would be able to reach a wider audience.”

_(The video ends.)_

…

“This is so exciting!” Mercedes says as she puts down the camera. “The two of you will be on _La Table Finale_ facing off with head chefs from all over the world.”

Mercedes had attended culinary school with Ashe and Dedue. She had concentrated on pastry courses, with the goal of becoming a pâtissier. She’s currently working at a bakery in Fhirdiad and has plans to open her own shop one day.

Ashe gives a nervous chuckle and runs his fingers through his hair, “We’re just sending in an audition tape. We don’t know whether we’ll actually be selected or not.”

“Oh, but I’m sure the two of you will be chosen. There’s no one in all of Fódlan that cooks a better King of Beasts Steak.” With a giggle, she adds, “I’m sure Ingrid can testify to that.”

Ashe laughs at this, “King of Beasts Steak is a Duscur-style dish. We’re probably the only people in Fhirdiad that _can_ cook it.”

Dedue gives a soft chuckle. At the quiet sound, Ashe’s face brightens. He turns toward him and gives him an affectionate gaze.

Ashe is always listening out for Dedue’s sounds. They’re always so slight, to the point of being inaudible. Ashe takes pleasure in hearing his sighs, his growls, his laughs, his moans…

“…right, Ashe?”

Ashe shakes his head, his cheeks tinged pink. He had gotten distracted.

“Sorry, what did you say, Mercedes?”

“I said, ‘You guys watch this show all the time, don’t you?’ It always seems to be on the T.V. whenever I stop by.”

 _La Table Finale_ was Ashe and Dedue’s favorite show. They had binge-watched all ten seasons, and constantly watched reruns.

The show featured eight pairs of chefs. Each episode featured a specific country, and the chefs had to cook a signature dish that originated from said country. Then, a judge—usually a celebrity chef or the owner of a renowned restaurant—would taste each of their dishes. They would pick out one team whose dish was unsatisfactory, and that team would be eliminated from the competition.

When Dedue had read online that the producers were planning to make an eleventh season, and were searching for contestants, he had urged Ashe to audition.

Ashe was anxious, but he couldn’t deny that he was excited by the prospect of being a contestant on _La Table Finale_. He didn’t think that his cooking skills were good enough to win on his own, but with Dedue by his side, he was much more confident.

Between the two of them, he knew that there was nothing that they couldn’t do.


	2. Chapter 2

With trembling hands, Ashe scrolls back up to the top of the email and reads it again.

_Dear Ashe and Dedue,_

_Thank you for your interest in_ La Table Finale _. We appreciate the effort that you invested in your audition tape, and we are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to advance to the next round...”_

“Dedue!” he squeaks. “Come here!”

Dedue appears in the doorway. He holds a soapy dishcloth in one hand. He was washing the dirty dishes from breakfast. Usually Ashe would join him, but they’d only had five guests that morning, and two of them had only drank coffee. Dedue had insisted that he could handle the small mess.

“Is something wrong, beloved?” he asks, his brow furrowed.

“Dedue,” Ashe repeats as he wraps his arms around Dedue’s waist and buries his face in Dedue’s chest. Ashe inhales, savoring his scent. Dedue always smells of spices and fresh soil. 

Ashe loves it. Sometimes, when he does their laundry, he presses his face into Dedue’s shirts and breathes in his scent. It’s embarrassing, and Ashe is sure that he’d wither up and die if he were ever caught, but he can’t help himself.

He loves Dedue so much. So much that it physically hurts sometimes.

Ashe tilts his head up and grins.

Dedue’s face softens. He is so weak to Ashe’s smile. With his free hand, he caresses the back of Ashe’s head, carding his fingers through the soft silver strands of his hair.

“We passed the audition! I mean, we still need to go through the rest of the phases. And I’m sure there’s a lot of other things we have to do, and we might not pass the next round, but—,"

“Breathe,” Dedue says, rubbing his thumb along Ashe’s earlobe.

Ashe pauses and collects himself.

“We should celebrate!” Ashe exclaims. “Let’s make a special dinner tonight.”

“What shall we make?”

Ashe considers their options.

“How about Whitefish Sauté?” he proposes. It’s a dish that they both enjoy. “Do we have any white wine?”

They both know that fish is best paired with white wine. Drinking red wine with fish would leave a slightly metallic taste in one’s mouth.

Ashe and Dedue seldom drink. They have a wine cellar, but it contains more sparkling grape juice than actual wine. What little alcohol they do own is typically only used for culinary purposes.

“I believe we still have a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator,” Dedue says. “I will check once I finish cleaning.”

He leans down and pecks Ashe on the cheek.

…

They do indeed have a bottle of white wine.

“Where did we put the corkscrew?” Ashe asks as he rummages through the drawers.

Dedue gently pries the bottle from his fingers and uncorks it with all the ease of opening a bottle of water.

Ashe giggles, “Thank you." 

Ashe pours a small serving into each of their wine glasses as Dedue sets the plates on the table.

Ashe watches as Dedue picks up his knife and fork, and then slices through the fish with meticulous precision. He observes the way Dedue’s jaw moves as he chews, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“You are not going to eat?” Dedue asks.

“Oh!” Ashe fumbles with his utensils, and then forks a bite of fish into his mouth.

“It turned out so well!” he comments. “I was a little worried that I might have added too much tarragon to the seasoning.”

Dedue shakes his head, “It’s perfect.”

They eat in silence, each of them relishing the taste of the meal and taking the occasional sip of wine.

By the end of the meal, they have emptied the bottle.

Ashe cannot hold his alcohol. Though he’s only had a glass and a half, his face is flushed. He’s also starting to feel a bit tired, but his drowsiness does not stop him from running his mouth.

“I really can’t believe that we were chosen,” he babbles. “I mean, _I_ know that you’re a great chef, but _they_ don’t know that. Not yet anyway. I think for one of the audition-things, we have to cook a dish. I read an article about it online. And there’s a background check or something.”

“Yes,” Dedue says. Dedue has a higher tolerance for alcohol, but even he is feeling a bit tipsy.

“I’m so excited to do this. With you. Together.”

“As am I,” Dedue says, smiling. “Are you finished with your food?”

“Ah, yeah,” Ashe answers.

Dedue picks up Ashe’s plate and piles it on top of his own. He carries the plates and the empty wine glasses to the sink.

Dedue is the sort of person that likes to wash the dishes as soon as the meal had ended. Ashe trails behind him.

Dedue pulls on his neon yellow dish gloves, plugs the drain, and turns on the faucet. He adds a squirt of dish soap and stirs until foamy bubbles form. After the sink is filled up, he dumps the dirty dishes into the water.

Dedue scrubs one of the plates, and then rinses off the suds. He hands the plate to Ashe, who dries it and places it inside its designated cabinet.

Ashe watches the way the muscles in Dedue’s arms flex as he wipes the dishes down. His eyes are drawn to the sweat beading on his hairline. He notices the way Dedue bites his lip as he encounters a tough stain on the bottom of the skillet they’d used to cook the fish.

Is it weird that he thinks Dedue is sexy when he washes dishes? Ashe wonders if it’s because of the wine he’d drank, or if he’s just weird when it comes to Dedue.

“Why don’t we just…skip to ‘dessert?’” Ashe blurts. He blushes; that was the sort of cheesy line that Sylvain would use. The alcohol has emboldened him.

He is rewarded with an amused huff from Dedue.

“The…dishwater will get cold,” Dedue states, but he has already slipped off his gloves. He folds them and hangs them over the edge of the sink.

Ashe loops his arms around Dedue’s neck, “Then we’ll just have to warm it back up.”

Dedue places one of his hands on the back Ashe’s neck, and his other behind Ashe’s knees. Then, he sweeps him off of his feet, arranging him into a bridal carry.

It’s always exhilarating when Dedue picks him up. Ashe loves a lot of things about Dedue. But if he had to make a list, the fact that Dedue could pick him up and carry him would definitely towards the top.

He feels safe in Dedue’s arms. No harm could ever befall him when he’s in Dedue’s embrace.

Dedue carries Ashe to their bedroom, then lowers him onto their bed. He straddles Ashe, leaning over him and bracketing Ashe’s head with his forearms.

Ashe, his arms still around Dedue’s neck, leans up and kisses the scar on the edge of Dedue’s mouth. It is his favorite one.

Dedue had gotten the scars when he’d happened to notice a man being attacked when he was in town one day. Without a second thought, Dedue had jumped between himself and the attackers, protecting the man.

The man had turned out to be Dimitri Blaiddyd, the heir to the Blue Lion, a food manufacturing company that made everything from cereal to cheese to potato chips. Dimitri hadn’t actually needed assistance (from a young age, he had been trained in various forms of martial arts), but he had appreciated Dedue’s help all the same.

But Ashe knows that even if Dedue had known that Dimitri was more than capable of protecting himself, Dedue still would have intervened. That’s just the type of guy he is.

And Ashe adores him for it.

“My love,” Dedue whispers as he peppers Ashe’s nose with kisses, as though he were attempting to kiss each individual freckle on his face.

He noses at Ashe’s neck, prodding the places where he knows Ashe is especially ticklish.

“Dedue,” Ashe pants, his hips rutting against Dedue’s thigh. “ _Please._ ”

Normally Ashe enjoys foreplay, but, tonight, he can’t bear to wait.

Dedue nudges Ashe’s thighs apart and positions himself between Ashe’s legs. He slips his fingers underneath the waistband of Ashe’s underwear and tugs them down.

Ashe is already hard, and almost painfully so.

Ashe weaves his fingers through Dedue’s hair as Dedue plants a kiss on the head of his dick. His tongue circles the edge of Ashe’s foreskin.

“Ah! Dedue!” Ashe moans.

Dedue envelopes Ashe’s dick with his hand, and then gives it a few slow, measured pumps. Ashe shakes his hips, wordlessly urging him to go faster.

Dedue picks up on the cue. He quickens his pace, stroking Ashe with one hand, and teasing his hole with the other. He runs his finger along the sensitive rim of Ashe’s anus. He drags his finger up and down along his taint. He cradle’s Ashe’s balls and massages them.

Then, Dedue kisses the head of Ashe’s penis again, but he does not stop there. He hinges open his jaw and moves lower along Ashe’s shaft. He takes him all the way to the base, hallowing his cheeks. He turns his gaze upward, locking eyes with Ashe.

This pushes Ashe over the edge.

“Dedue…!” he cries, his voice sweeter than any sound Dedue has ever heard. Ashe bucks his hips, and his body trembles.

Dedue swallows Ashe’s spend without a thought.

“Do you wish to continue?” he asks.

Ashe does not respond.

He has fallen asleep.

Dedue chuckles as he watches the steady rise and fall of Ashe’s chest.

Dedue tucks Ashe’s now-limp penis back into his pants, straightens his clothes, and then layers their duvet over him. He presses his fingers against Ashe’s soft lips. He rubs his thumb over his eyebrows. He strokes Ashe’s hair.

He loves every inch of him, from the tips of his toes to his cowlick.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispers, kissing Ashe’s forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone asks--yes, _La Table Finale_ is loosely based on Netflix's The Final Table. Yes, I just translated the title into French. Yes, I know that I'm uncreative.


End file.
